Crush
by Redlance-ck
Summary: It's just a crush. Rachel/Quinn


Disclaimer: Not mine. Characters belong to Ryan Murphy and a bunch of other people.

Spoilers: All episodes are fair game.

A/N: So, this is my first Rachel/Quinn. I got the idea for it after (obsessively) listening to Lea Michele's rendition of 'Crush' and it wouldn't leave. I'm hoping no one is too grossly out of character, apologies ahead of time. And thanks to boom wizard for giving this a once over a while back ;)

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It's just a crush.

This is what Quinn Fabray tells herself each and every morning upon waking. This is what she tells herself while brushing her teeth and staring at her reflection in Brittany's bathroom mirror, trying to find a semblance of familiarity.

It's just a crush.

Quinn Fabray tells herself this, because if she didn't, she highly suspects her days would become utterly unbearable. More so than they already were. She believes, in all honesty, that the Earth itself would open up beneath her and the Rapture would arrive in balls of fire falling from the sky. It would be a literal Hell on Earth if she didn't tell herself those four simple words, because it would mean that the exact opposite of that statement is true.

And it would **have** to be the end of the world if that came to pass, because there is no way Quinn Fabray has anything other than some hormone-infused crush on Rachel Berry. She doesn't know if they're pregnancy hormones or plain old teenager hormones, she doesn't really care.

It makes her crazy, the need to repeat such a preposterous mantra. But every morning is the same, and so is every afternoon, and Quinn is quite frankly shocked that it hadn't found its way into one of her cheers mid-game, or that it doesn't come bursting out during glee practise. Because another thing that drives her crazy is just how **long** she has had to repeat it.

It's been going on while. Nothing as insanely long as before Glee, but it started not too long after she joined. She's not even sure what 'it' is. She just knows it's there, a constant presence.

Much like Rachel Berry herself.

That's not to say that Rachel is actually always in her line of sight. She hasn't turned into some kind of sleazy backyard stalker, yet, but Rachel always finds a way into her thoughts. When she isn't there to assault Quinn's eyes with the exact same smile that only weeks ago made the former Cheerio want to slap it off her face, but now just makes her stupid insides either melt or get a sudden infestation of butterflies. Quinn even finds herself, far more frequently than she would like, smiling at the memory of something the Queen of All Storm-Outs did earlier in the day.

Actually smiling. Sometimes she feels repulsed. Mostly she just feels warm and fuzzy.

It's just a crush.

And that's exactly what she tells herself, again, when her feet carry her numerous blocks in the wrong direction, and land her at the Berry's front door. For a total of eleven seconds, Quinn actually considers knocking. Thinks she might be able to do it. But her nervous disposition, something she wasn't even aware she had until Rachel annoyed some door inside her to death and it swung open, prevails and forces her flat against the wall between the window and the door as a shadow walks through the hallway beyond. Pushes her until she's slunk her way along the underside of the window and around to the back of the house, where all is mercifully dark. Until a bedroom light is switched on above a lavender hue cascades down over the back lawn. Rachel comes into view, standing before the window but looking down at something unseen, and blonde hair is turned black as it disappears into shadows. It's as the darkness swallows her that Quinn takes a second to assess the situation and realises that **this** might be considered stalking, and she can't actually believe its come to this. To standing in Rachel goddamn **Berry's** back yard and mooning over her like she's some Shakespearean Juliet to her seriously messed up Romeo. Because she doesn't think Mr Shakespeare would know what to do with a girl who was dating one guy, got pregnant by another and then found herself developing feelings for the heroine smack bang in the middle of the whole ordeal. Her life is literally like a soap opera on crack and being arrested for stalking actually seems like a pretty fitting end to the current storyline. It's either that, Puck confessing that he never actually slept with her and it had been his evil twin brother, or gay wedding bells.

It's just a crush.

And the speed at which Quinn is now repeating those four words inside her head would give those guys would can recite one of William's plays in under a minute a run for their money.

Rachel turns, hair flipping over her shoulder with the motion, and disappears from view. And Quinn releases a breath she was very aware she had been holding, but hadn't been able to let go of until then. Her heart is pounding in her chest and she doesn't know if it's the threat of being caught, the idea of being there, or the mere glimpse of Rachel that has it racing. She knows which one she **doesn't** want it to be.

Because it's just a crush.

"Why are you hiding in my back yard?" Quinn screams. She's not ashamed to admit that. Her heart all but explodes and she spins on her heel to find a very confused looking Rachel frowning at her.

"Tip, Manhands. Don't scare pregnant women. It's a good way to get yourself killed." A single dark eyebrow lifts and Quinn has to fight the urge to look away.

"Says the girl lurking in shadows in the middle of the night."

"It's nine o'clock." Why is she arguing about the time when she should be hightailing it out of there? Quinn doesn't know.

"Why are you here?" Desperate, Quinn's eyes scan her dark surroundings in the hope that they'll land on her way out of this. A conveniently placed trapdoor into Hell, perhaps. She'd take it.

"Why are you wearing toenail polish? You know that's like, so not in right now, right?" Rachel stares at her and it makes Quinn's feet shuffle beneath her.

"It's not polish. At least, not in the aesthetic sense. It's a gloss used to increase the hardness of the nail. As a dancer of my calibre, I find they are subject to a lot of wear and tear and I want to ensure they can withstand any potential damage." Quinn is staring, and she doesn't even remember to look embarrassed because Rachel is both insane and impossibly cute at that moment and the cross-wiring has damaged her brain. "And no, I was unaware that nail polish isn't 'in' right now."

"Of course you were." Quinn says under her breath, once again trying to figure out just how in the hell she'd ended up in this situation. Crushing on Rachel Berry. The girl's middle name was probably 'argyle' for crying out loud. Why couldn't she crush on Brittany? Or, Lord help her, Santana? Santana would probably kill her, in either situation, but at least they rated higher than the AV kid on the popularity scale. Not that she rated any higher these days.

"What?" Rachel asks, but when Quinn's eyes settle on those of the would-be superstar's, she sees in them something that tells her that not only did Rachel hear the comment, it stung her. And she doesn't quite know what to do with that information. Because the knowledge that she hurt the other girl and is contrite about it freaks her out beyond all reason, because she's not supposed to care about anyone else's feelings, least of all little Liza Minnelli-in-training. And because it always seems like whenever anyone knocks Rachel Berry down, she simply brushes it off and gets back up, because she knows she's better than every person who's ever slushied her or thrown a smart remark her way.

"Nothing." And Quinn doesn't want to see that change. "I'm just…" An almost imperceptible shake of her head. "I'm going to leave." And she wants to, because the whole evening took an incredibly stupid turn when she stepped foot onto the Berry's driveway and she's kind of tired now.

"No." Rachel says firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and raising her eyebrows in a way that lets whoever is on the receiving end know that they are about to be challenged. "Not until you tell me why you're skulking around my back yard."

"Will you step away from the thesaurus in your brain and just say 'sneaking'?"

"Will you answer me if I do?" She doesn't like Rachel's ability to get under her skin. It bugs her. Like an itch she can't scratch, but one she knows would feel **amazing** if she could.

It's just a crush.

"Probably not." And for a second, she's not entirely sure whether she's responding to Rachel's question or her inner mantra. Then Rachel rolls her eyes and practically stomps her foot in annoyance and all Quinn can think about is how adorable she looks, standing barefoot on the concrete path wearing pink shorts and a matching tank top that are both covered in cartoon ponies.

"Fine. Are you going to come inside, or were you just interested in a tour of the fabulous landscaping my fathers do?" Quinn blinks stupidly, because she's not sure she heard right. She's both unnerved and annoyed when Rachel stares back, looking at her like she **is** stupid. However, despite both of those things, Quinn's feet take her forward, and before her brain has time to really process what's happening, Rachel has turned and is leading her away. And then Quinn is standing in the middle of the Berry's kitchen, entirely unsure of how she got there. "Do you want something to drink?" Her brain is screaming for vodka, but she doesn't have the best rep when it comes to alcohol. Plus, baby.

"No." She says, a little too briskly, and Rachel's dark hair shifts and cascades along her back, exposing her neck as she stares at Quinn with another raised eyebrow. "Thank you." She was going to say it, really she was. _"Rachel's neck's fault for distracting me."_ It's at that thought that the blonde realises she really needs to leave. Because now she's moved from the semi-acceptable stage of blaming hormones and is onto blaming body parts, and things, she knows, can only get worse from there. Next she'll be blaming Rachel's legs, her butt, her hips and her arms, and she knows she'll end up blaming Rachel's lips. Right before she kisses them off.

"Are you okay? You look-" She doesn't even get to her mantra this time.

"Dizzy." Quinn says breathily, the strength being siphoned from her legs and her arm reaching out and grasping stupidly for a stool placed beside the island in the middle of the room. It's been happening a lot lately, dizzy spells. She's been assured that it's normal, the only problem is she's pretty sure the baby didn't bring that one on. She's vaguely aware of the sound of running water and can only briefly wonder whether or not that's one of the signs of a stroke before Rachel is at her side offering her a glass of the cold liquid. Making sure she's safely perched first, Quinn lifts her gaze and finds worried dark eyes looking at her. "I'm fine. Baby thing." She says and take the glass, hoping the dark-haired won't question her. She doesn't, just watches at Quinn takes slow sips of water until the former cheerleader shoots her a look that before would have sent the diva scurrying in the opposite direction, but now only just gets her point across, and Rachel drops her gaze and moves around to take a seat on the opposite side of the island.

"Do you want something to eat? Chocolate? Something with sugar?"

"I'm pregnant, Berry, not diabetic." Quinn's words are biting, she can't help it. The whole situation has surpassed the realm of normalcy and she's slipped into the freaking Twilight Zone and she's agitated and confused.

"Actually, about two percent of pregnant women develop something called gestational diabetes." Rachel frowns at her, tilting her head to one side, and Quinn finds she needs to take a deep breath to calm herself. "Are you exceptionally tired? Do you frequent the bathroom more than normal?" Which doesn't help. It never ceases to amaze her how Rachel can have all the appeal of a flesh eating beetle one minute and then do something that Quinn finds undeniably lovable or sexy the next.

"I'm **pregnant**, what kind of questions are those?" She quickly hold her hands up, forestalling any answers. "Never mind, doesn't matter, I've had the all clear." Rachel smiles. Smiles like she really is relieved to hear that, and Quinn's apparently terribly unstable insides melt again.

It's just a crush.

"_Please, God, let it just be a crush."_ The irony of asking God for anything in her current position is painfully apparent to her, but it slips out anyway.

"Good. Don't need anymore doctor bills than necessary." Quinn is certain that is Rachel attempt at a joke, but it only just brings up the financial problems that have been plaguing her and Finn lately. Which in turn, brings to mind Finn himself and all of the guilt she has. She feels her face fall, knows Rachel sees it. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry or anything-"

"It's not like you're unaware." Quinn interrupts, shrugging. Not wanting to talk about it, but not wanting Rachel to feel bad. _"__**What **__is wrong with me?" _She shifts on the stool and casts her eyes downwards to where her fingers are nervously interlacing themselves on the tabletop. "You helped Finn find that job, right?" Dark hair swings with a nod and Quinn can feel the next words bubbling up inside of her and something else desperately scrambling to try and put on a lid on it. "And I know I've been kind of a bitch, but I want to thank you for doing that, because I don't know what we would have done otherwise." The silence that follows, Quinn knows, is just as stunned as they are. Because Quinn can't believe she said it and she's almost positive that was the last thing Rachel expected to leave her mouth. "I mean, I know you didn't do it for me but… thanks." And she's even more confused, if possible, when she looks up and find Rachel's face a mask of chided outrage.

"Evidently you don't know everything you think you do, Quinn." She barks, and the blonde is so startled by the sudden shift in mood she almost falls off her stool. "How dare you presume to know my motivations! And how dare you accuse me of being low and desperate enough to help someone fake a disability in order to **date** them." Apparently, they were beyond the 'beat around the bush' stage. Rachel pushes her stool back with a clatter loud enough to make Quinn wonder whether or not they're alone in the house, and stalks away into the other room. Leaving Quinn very much alone in an unfamiliar kitchen, unknowing of what to do next, and a little surprised Rachel didn't leave a trail of DeLorean-like fire behind her. It's only a few seconds before Rachel bursts back into the room, fire still lighting her eyes, rage shifting her limbs. "This is my house! You leave!" And now she looks a little flustered and Quinn is trying hard not to find it some shade of adorable and concentrate on just getting the hell out of there before something else unexpected happens or Rachel not-so-metaphorically rips her a new one.

"Sorry-"

"Don't apologise! It's weird!" Hazel eyes widen as a finger is thrust in Quinn's face. Wasn't she supposed to be the one with irrational hysterical emotions? But then she feels a familiar ire rise in her.

"What's weird is you telling me you aren't low enough to do something like that, when it was clear to pretty much the entire school that you were trying to steal my boyfriend long before we broke up!" That seems to drain some of the anger from Rachel, who backs off a little and Quinn can finally breathe. Sure, it might have been a tasteless comment, but it was true and it was needed. The brunette folds her arms across her chest and stares at Quinn, deflated but defiant.

"I didn't get Finn the job to try and steal him." A fair eyebrow raises in incredulity before it can be stopped. "I know you don't believe me and you don't have any reason to." Rachel admits, her demeanour suddenly changing from angry munchkin to that of a kicked Christmas elf as she looks at Quinn with her damn doe-eyes and pouting lips. "But I did it for you." Quinn's eyes snap wide and she stares right back. "For **both **of you. Not just for Finn. We might not be friends Quinn, but we're team-mates." Without justification, Quinn's gut clenches at the admission. "And we're supposed to help each other out." Part of Quinn, the part of her that's vindictive and mean because that's just how she was bred, wants to lash out at Rachel. Wants to teach her that showing weakness, wanting to be friendly, only gets you bitch-slapped and trodden on. But another part of her recoils from the thought, like its been scalded. Because somewhere deep down, every time she laughs at Rachel's slushied ensemble, every time 'manhands' or 'treasure trail' or any of the other ridiculous names trickle past her lips, that part of her feels betrayed. And it makes her heartsick and her head hurt. Because none of it makes any sense.

"I shouldn't have come." She blurts, sliding off the stool and shifting her attention to everything except the girl in front of her. "I shouldn't be here."

"Then why are you?" Rachel's tone is still challenging and it finally stretches Quinn too far, and she snaps.

"Because I'm scared!" She yells, no longer wondering if they're alone, no longer caring. The confession leaves her lips and it seems like only a second passes before they start to quiver. Because there are so many things that scare Quinn right now. And that's another thing that annoys her, because her feelings for Rachel **freaking **Berry should be a blip on the radar screen compared to the fact that she's pregnant at sixteen with her former-boyfriend's best friend's baby and is living in her best friend's spare room, but they aren't.

It's just a crush.

"Quinn, I don't-" Quinn knows Rachel doesn't know what to do, doesn't need her to say it out loud.

"I know. And I'm sorry. For everything." She feels something hot and wet trickle down her cheek and feels disgust roll through her. "I'm going to leave. Just… forget you even found me lurking in your back yard." She attempts a smile, but knows her mouth barely twitches at the corners, and turns.

"Quinn." And Rachel's hand has grabbed hers, stalling her movement and, God help her, her heart. It's brief, lasting only a few seconds because as soon as Quinn stops, Rachel releases her hold. "You're upset. I can't let you drive home like this." Quinn frowns and is about to ask why when Rachel throws what feels like a half-hearted excuse at her. "Tears might blur your vision." If the blonde didn't feel so emotionally exhausted, she thinks she would have really smiled at that. "Let me make you something to drink. Hot chocolate?" And Quinn doesn't argue. Doesn't even try resisting when Rachel takes her by the elbow and leads her into the living room, practically forcing her down onto the couch. She is vaguely aware that she's still crying, but the outer body experience she's having right now is overshadowing that. Because she's sitting in Rachel Berry's living room while the brunette makes her hot chocolate and she doesn't remember how she got here and has no clue why she can't find the energy to leave.

That's when it occurs to her that she isn't sure she has the strength to fight this anymore. Whatever 'this' is. And she's simultaneously relieved and terrified. Because she's thought about this, as much as she will deny it if anyone were to ask her, and there's no way in any hypothetical reality that she can allow herself to be with Rachel. There are too many obstacles, Rachel's sometimes painfully apparent sexual not being the least of them, and Quinn can't honestly say that even if the brunette did show a more than friendly interest in her that she'd be able to take the added stress. Because there's no way dating Rachel Berry would be without stress. And Quinn has done a lot of self-reflecting lately, about the things she's done, why she did them. About people she thought loved her and why they did the things they did. And she decided, late at night, quietly in her head, that Rachel's light is one that shouldn't be tainted by anyone's darkness.

"It's hot." Rachel's voice is suddenly murmuring somewhere close by her hear and Quinn, startled by the shorter girl's abrupt materialization, jumps. And sends the mug tumbling out of the singer's fingers. It hits the carpet with a dull thud, dark liquid landing in large droplets and spilling out from the opening and soaking into the thick flooring. There's a second where neither of them move and Quinn just stares in horror. Then she's up off the sofa and kneeling on the floor, lifting the mug onto the coffee table and wondering how she's going to soak up the mess with just her hands. But then she's taking a dishcloth that has appeared in one of Rachel's and Quinn lifts her head to meet dark eyes.

"I'm so sorry." Her voice trembles. She's not sure what exactly she's apologising for, but she highly suspects it's for everything.

"It's okay." And Rachel smiles at her. Not her usual toothy, megawatt stage smile, thought this one is no less breathtaking. This smile is more gentle, more timid, and for a second Quinn thinks it looks almost strange on her, because there's nothing timid about Rachel Berry. But then the cloth is being taken from her hand and their fingers are touching, and Quinn realises that this is a real Rachel smile. "Let me do that." Her hands are tingling.

"I've made such a mess." The words are quiet, but Rachel hears them, and Quinn sees her shoot a peripheral glance at the former cheerleader while patting the soaked, probably stained, carpet.

"It'll be fine. My dad's have an extensive catalogue of stain removers, I'm sure one of them will work." It's meant to be a joke, something to lighten the mood, but they both know that Quinn wasn't really talking about the hot chocolate. Though she really **is **sorry about that. "It'll be okay, Quinn." And the blonde wants to cry, because she wants to believe Rachel. More than anything in the world, she wants Rachel to be right. But even if the baby drama calms, even if Finn forgives her and the entire town's population somehow doesn't look at her with disgust or pity, even if her parents start speaking to her again, there will still be one thing slowly destroying Quinn from the inside out. Even if things turn out right, something nestled deep within her would be so very wrong.

"You don't understand." It's a defeated admission, a whisper that slips from her lips as she presses her back against the couch and pulls her legs as close to her chest as her swelling stomach will allow. Her hands cover her eyes and she allows her mind to be swallowed by the darkness.

"Then explain it to me." Rachel's voice reaches her, like a single ray of light stretching through the blackness. She drops her hands and turns her head, looking into brown eyes swimming close to her own and, not for the first time, wondering why on Earth the other girl is so nice to her. She doesn't deserve it, but she's far too weak to turn it away.

"I've hurt so many people." She watches as dark eyebrows knit together and she's sure Rachel is thinking about the day the parentage of her unborn child was finally exposed, about their hallway confrontation. And even then, even when she could justify it, Quinn still couldn't hate her. "I never meant to… I don't want to do that anymore. I'm so tired of lying, Rachel." Deep eyes widen in surprise for just a second and Quinn wonders if that was really the first time she's said Rachel's name out loud and not used some ridiculous pseudonym.

"Then stop." Rachel made it sound so simple. "Only you can fix things, Quinn. No one else can mend the pieces you broke." The brunette pauses, as is rolling the next words around in her mouth, tasting them to make sure they're not poisonous. "Especially the ones inside you. You need to stop lying to yourself first." And it was true, because there were various points over the last few months where she thinks she'd actually convinced herself that Finn was the father and everything was going to turn out okay. Where she'd convinced herself that if she ignored things hard enough, they'd go away. Where she'd lied to herself, made herself believe certain feelings weren't as strong as she felt they were.

It's just a crush.

Except it isn't. And the revelation left Quinn too weak and vulnerable to resist anymore.

"Rachel…" And the name, while foreign on her tongue, is the first thing that has felt right in a long time. Brown eyes turn questioning and then they shimmer out of focus, because Quinn is leaning forward like Rachel's often talked about magnetism has been turned on full force and is pulling her in. Quinn brushes their lips together softly, and that's the second thing to feel right. Even if Rachel's lips are stiff and unmoving, Quinn reveals in their warmth, their softness, stretching the few brief seconds out into a small eternity. But even eternity has to end sometime.

Rachel's eyes are closed when Quinn pulls back and, even though she's sure it isn't possible, her heart skitters faster because while she isn't exactly sure what that means, the fact that Rachel hasn't vanished in a cloud of dust has to be promising.

"I'm sorry for that, too." The words shatter the deafening silence that had fallen and Rachel's eyes blink lazily open. And then she does something that makes the blonde want to simultaneously laugh and cry. She smiles.

"Are you really?" It almost sounds like a challenge, like she's daring Quinn to lie or to finally stop. And Quinn feels her insides quiver.

"No." Rachel's breath is warm against her cheek and Quinn's heart jumps from a skitter into a full on canter. And it doesn't matter that this feels like a fast paced dream, or that Quinn knows this is the last thing she deserves. The only thing that holds any kind of meaning, is the knowledge that Rachel has shifted closer and her words are a breathy sigh against her lips.

"Good." And the cloth has been dropped, forgotten atop the chocolate stain, and Rachel's hands, so soft and unmanly, are holding Quinn's face with a tenderness that makes her want cry. But the heat from her hands burns the threatening tears away and Rachel's lips send a fire through her that is so wild and so wonderful, that Quinn forgets to be afraid.


End file.
